


Fish

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori finally gets chips and something even better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Poor Bombur is either non-existent or desexualized in most of the fic I've been reading. I'd love to read something where he gets some loving (and it's not played for laughs)” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21904107#t21904107).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He keeps the bundle wrapped up on the way home, half to keep it hot and half because the salty aroma already has him salivating, muffled though it is. When he steps through the rickety doors of their temporary lodge in Laketown, he can see that most of the others have returned—the entranceway is full of weapons leaning against the walls, which most of them take everywhere. Ori’s the only one that ducks out for food with nothing but a scarf. Dori tried to give him a sword ‘just in case,’ but Nori laughed that Ori could just strangle an enemy if need be. Dori begrudgingly let him go, though Ori would never risk getting blood on his favourite piece of knitwear, assuming he even had the courage to do such a thing. 

Fortunately, wandering about the frigid town proved uneventful. He found some chips—a craving he’s had since Rivendell—and made it back just in time to catch the tail end of Thorin’s decrees. He was divvying up the limited rooms when Ori left. It didn’t seem necessary to stay and listen. Ori will most likely end up with Dori and Nori (though Nori’s prone to sneaking out) as he always does.

He bypasses the living room and goes quietly up the stairs, already fumbling open the grease-stained paper and stuffing the chips into his mouth. They’re nothing like his mother or Dori would make, but after the measly rations he’s survived on up until now, they’re _excellent_. Warm on the inside, nice and crispy on the outside. He can already feel the crumbs getting into his scruff, but like most of them, he hasn’t looked prim or polished since this quest started.

It occurs to him belatedly that the second landing’s no good to him. He wanted to beeline for his bedroom, but he doesn’t know yet which one is his. He turns back towards the stairs, only to stop in his tracks and flush a deep crimson, almost choking on his chip. Bombur’s coming up the stairwell, and Ori’s all alone, which means they’ll probably say something in passing to each other, _Bombur will talk to him_ , and he’ll get all tongue-tied as he always does because it’s _Bombur_. He takes up almost the whole stairway, and the old wood creaks with each step, unworthy of holding real Dwarven girth. Bombur is everything dwarves strive to be—thick, strong: unstoppable. Not to mention his _beard_ , so long and full that it can rest in a large braid across his stomach. His bright orange hair is the colour Ori’s ruddy locks try to be. He’s twice the size of little Ori—pitiful for a dwarf. And Ori’s barely said two words to him this whole time, because he’s quiet and thoughtful and mature and the heartthrob that Ori tries not to think about at night. 

He expects Bombur to walk right past him, into one of the rooms on either side of the hall. But instead, Bombur comes up to him, stopping only a meter away, their stomach’s nearly touching. Ori’s barely managed to stop coughing over his chip, and the hand holding the rest is trembling. He mumbles a blunt, “Hi,” and then feels inordinately foolish.

Bombur just smiles kindly. He has one of those perfectly friendly faces that makes everyone feel at ease. Yet Ori’s seen him in battle and knows he can be fierce when needed. And he must also be quite virile—he left a wife and two lovers at home, already has several children, and Ori has it on good authority that despite his wife having another lover of her own, she cried persistently when he said goodbye. (Ori would too.)

Ori’s never had even one lover. His stomach clenches almost painfully when Bombur asks, in his deep, rumbling voice, “Do you mind if we share a room?” 

Ori’s mouth falls open. His face feels like it’s burning up. He almost wants to splutter no, just because he probably couldn’t handle bunking with such a handsome man. And dwarves aren’t shy, either. It was bad enough when he saw Bombur naked in the fountain at Rivendell, all soft flesh and ripe curves and the intricate patterns of stretch mark detailing, like rivers of marble. He’ll never last if he sees that again 

Waiting patiently, Bombur adds, “I thought you might want a break from Dori’s smothering.” He winks, and somehow Ori nods, though why Bombur would care about Ori’s frustratingly over-protective brother, he has no idea. He didn’t even know Bombur knew he existed. 

Finally, Ori manages to splutter, “I-I’d like that.” Bombur grins, but then his head tilts, and his eyes squint, lips still upturned. Ori gets the distinct impression that he’s being thoroughly examined for what he isn’t saying. He can only hope Bombur, with all his wisdom and experience, doesn’t find Ori as transparent as he feels. 

To try and distract that scrutiny, Ori lifts his bundle and offers, “Chips?” He knows that Bombur’s something of a food connoisseur, and sharing a proper meal with him has always been one of Ori’s fantasies, though he’ll settle for some greasy chips out of his paper-covered palm.

Bombur leans forward. His hand doesn’t lift, which confuses Ori for half a second, but by then it’s too late—Bombur’s pressed against Ori’s face, his long, broad tongue sticking out to lap over Ori’s chin. With that single swipe, Bombur collects the crumbs out of Ori’s beard, and Ori’s left trembling on Bombur’s retreat, sure he’ll melt into the floor at any moment. 

Bombur grunts, “Thanks,” and winks again. Ori tries to answer but can’t. And Bombur brushes past him, into the first door on the left. That must be _their_ room. 

Ori means to follow. He really does. But he’s shaking almost violently, the realization that the most handsome dwarf he’s ever seen just _licked him_ making his head reel. His skin’s broiling. He takes a step forward.

And he faints against the floor, dropping all the other chips.


End file.
